Intentions
by DukeGirl2001
Summary: Liz questions Red about Sam. Takes place sometime after the Berlin episode.
1. Chapter 1

Ice forms on the edge of the small window as the sun slowly descends into the distant tree line. The temperature in the room drops further and she pulls her coat tightly around her middle.

She moves to look at the man beside her.

"Why did you tell me, Red?"

He turns his head to look at her, his eyes focusing on her through his tinted glasses.

"Why did you tell me about Sam?" Her words are strained and she struggles to get them out, the pain of Sam's loss still fresh despite the time that has elapsed. "I would have never known for sure if you hadn't told me."

He maintains steady eye contact and raises an eyebrow while continuing to stay silent.

"I mean, I asked, because of the timeline and everything, but at no time…," she falters a bit before continuing, "at no time did I really think you did it – killed Sam. Killed my father."

She worries her hands in her lap and looks down at the floor before returning her gaze to his unflinching one.

"Why? Why did you tell me?"

He runs the tip of his tongue over his dry lips before starting to speak.

"I've never lied to you Lizzie. Not before, not then, not now. You've lived through enough deception for a hundred lifetimes. I'm not going to add to that. You deserved to know. Ending it was what Sam wanted. I wished that you might never suspect, never ask, but I certainly wouldn't hide the truth from you."

"But it comprised me, us –" she flounders around a bit, searching for the words to explain herself, the clarity of her question suddenly important, "you were willing to lose me, let me go." Her voice remains steady, her words a statement not a question.

He looks at her steadily, seemingly unfazed by her line of inquiry. "I'll never lie to you." He repeats himself. As if that's answer enough.

"Even if that makes everything, all of this," she gestures wide, her gaze sweeping over the drab concrete walls of their containment area, "harder for you? You wouldn't be here if I hadn't tried to walk away. You wouldn't be…" her voice drops a little and she looks pointedly down at the stained bandages pulled tightly around his arm. "You wouldn't have been hurt." She finishes her thought.

"Who's to say what would or would not have happened Lizzie." With that his voice drops and he leans back against the wall, closing his eyes. "We don't decide our own fate, we can just hope for the outcome we desire."

"Red…" His obvious fatigue concerns her and she is suddenly aware of their surroundings. Aware of their predicament. Someone has them and there is no obvious way out. No Dembe or Mr. Kaplan. No FBI ops team waiting around the corner.

And the man who has always intervened to save her, always intervened on her behalf if she really lets herself think about it, sits slowly losing blood on the floor across from her. She suppresses a wave of panic and works to calm her increased heart rate.

She looks back up to the window. The sun fully set now behind the horizon and the flickering flourescent light fixture above her casting ominous shadows off of the metal bars. She reins her thoughts in and focuses inward – her training kicking in.

Time passes slowly or quickly, she's not really sure. The wall cold on her back as she stares at a spot high on the ceiling. A watermark it looks like. From what she wonders. She feels herself drifting into sleep and then pulling back to the present again.

"Lizzie – " she turns towards his voice. His shape barely visible now in the low light. She had thought he was sleeping. A respite from the grim reality that they are in.

"Lizzie – " he seems to be searching for her and she realizes that he can't see her in the darkness of the corner. She scoots towards the middle of the room without standing up. Staying below the exterior and interior windows seems safer somehow. Her subconscious working to keep them safe. Keep them alive.

"Red?" Her voice echoes softly against the concrete walls. "Red, I'm right here."

His eyes find hers in the dark and she sees his lips turn up in the ghost of a smile.

"There was a man once…" his words seem to get lost in the dark and he pauses for a minute. The only sound a hollow plinking of water dripping down in parts unknown and unseen to her.

"I met a man once. An Arab. Fine fellow, a fan of quality wine and quality women." His memories appear to come to the forefront and a wisp of happiness crosses his face.

"I had the pleasure of spending a few days with him many years back. An arms deal which I was brokering and he was…assisting. Anyway, that's beside the point." He pauses to look up at her and then continues.

"This man, this Arab, was just a local businessman back then. Sold commercial real estate. Small deals really. Anyway, he had a dream of building a luxury hotel in the desert. Dead set he was on this crazy idea. 'The desert?' Everyone would say. 'There is nothing there. Nothing but sand. Sand and heat and nothingness.' But this man, my friend, he did not become discouraged, just kept working on his plans. Sharing his ideas if anyone asked. He just kept plugging away despite the perceived reality. Despite the comments, the expectations, of others. He just kept going."

"What became of him?" She asks the question quietly. Fearing the answer.

"Oh Amir," Red gives a full chortle and looks directly up at her. "I had the pleasure of seeing him again just last year. He fed me the most succulent white pomfret I've ever eaten." He kisses his fingers dramatically.

She smiles as the memory clearly makes him happy. His arm has to be hurting. She starts to move closer to inspect the bandages.

Red's arresting voice pierces the space between them. "In Qatar Lizzie. He fed me the fish in _Qatar_. In his restaurant. In his hotel. In the city he built. Out of nothing. Out of the sand. In the building, in the city that everyone dismissed. The odds were too high. A city out of sand. But he kept on going. He bet on the long play, however distant the odds might be. He worked for the off chance that it would happen. And he let that off chance be his world."

She stops moving and looks at Red. Watches him move his good hand over his bad arm and wince infinitesimally. His eyes never leave hers. The importance of his story clearly evident, but she just can't get there.

"Red –"

"I'm betting on the long play Lizzie. The impossible odds." He stops and his gaze travels around the closed room. "I told you about Sam because of the long game. Because of the chance, however small it might be, that we might make it out of this – through this – intact. And I needed you, wanted you, to know the truth."

His eyes bore into hers and suddenly it clicks.

He told her for the hope of – her heart stutters momentarily in her chest – for the hope of her. Beyond Berlin. Beyond the Blacklist. Beyond the FBI and his criminal empire. For the hope of her.

"Red." Her voice contains the emotion that she feels building inside of her. "Red?" She looks back at him and sees that he is asleep. His chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Exhaling she moves closer to him and places her hand on his arm to inspect the damage. Her eyes focused on the bandage and the torn fabric of his jacket.

Above her a slight smile crosses his face. She's still here.

Xxx

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Her words evaporate into the cold air and are replaced with the foreign noises of the building. The temperature seems to drop even further and she forces her hands into the decorative pockets of her coat.

Worry infiltrates her thoughts and she stares at Red propped against the wall. His chest rises and falls evenly, and with the exception of the dirt and blood marring his features he looks almost peaceful. She knows how futile Red's usual efforts at sleeping are – they've discussed it, compared their similar plight, and she knows he struggles to let go. His injuries are certainly more than he is expressing for relief to come so easily.

Her gaze travels down his arms and over the streaked cotton undershirt that covers his torso. The garment has come mostly undone from his dark pants, which, though still intact, are wrinkled and torn. His shoes though, his shoes are still pristine.

That small piece of normalcy, the perfect shoes, brings a momentary respite to her scattered thoughts and she lets her eyes wander up to his face again. His expression, still peaceful, appears both so familiar and so unknown to her. She can't put her finger on what it is, what characteristic has changed, but he looks…bare. His features are devoid of the confident mask that he usually wears and he looks – he looks younger.

She's seen this face before, at the fateful meeting at the park when he pulled her to him with the tale of the sea gypsy and evaded death. She was surprised at how young he looked in that moment, the sun shining down on his face, and lighter somehow – as if the rest of the world had fallen away and the two of them, his words, her words, were all that mattered in the universe.

Xxx

Her thoughts travel back and she sees Red lying on the ground, his arms restrained behind his back and his beloved fedora fallen unceremoniously to the dusty ground beside him. The agents were rough with him, rougher than she had seen them with anyone before, and the skin around his cuffed hands was already pink and raw.

Still, despite the dire circumstance, he kept his eyes trained on hers and the look he gave her…she'll carry that look with her for the remainder of her days…that look was pure _love_.

It had all changed then for her. In that moment with him on the ground. The new reality of the future, the current predicament, her life falling down on her and making it hard to breathe.

_Red_, she had called out his name, reaching for him despite the situation. Despite the watching eyes of the armed agents surrounding them, despite everything.

He had stopped looking at her then. Pointedly ignored her actually. As if he was trying to force himself away from her using the only part of his body he still had control over.

She thinks she remembers calling out for him again, and then Ressler's arms were around her pulling her back. Back, back, back, away from Red and into a waiting Suburban.

She remembers pulling the seatbelt across her chest and checking and rechecking the safety on her gun. She remembers pulling her gloves off and stuffing them into the space between the leather seat and the door. She remembers the curious glances thrown her way by the other occupants of the car and then she remembers not caring.

It's funny how everything becomes clear when it's gone.

She remembers Cooper approaching the vehicle. Opening her door. Telling someone in the front seat that he needed Agent Keen. Needed her to ride in a different vehicle, and she found herself walking across the pavement to the sedan where Red was caged.

She remembers feeling overwhelming relief at seeing him again followed by paralyzing panic that this was her fault in the first place. All of this playing out within the space of a second.

She remembers thinking that it was odd that Cooper didn't detect her emotions. Couldn't read the thoughts that were speeding through her head, but he seemed calm. So did Red. So did everyone in the car.

And she remembers realizing that Cooper needed her to talk to Red. Pull out any intel he might have on Berlin. On what was coming.

But before that could happen the sedan pulled to a stop at a red light and out of nowhere four masked men surrounded the vehicle and began firing.

She remembers the blood, and the sound of breaking glass, and the cold sting of the concrete as she felt herself being dragged along the sidewalk.

She remembers being forced into another vehicle and seeing him…seeing Red…the ugly burgundy stain already spreading across his shirtsleeve as the masked man beside him went to work applying a tourniquet and bandaging the wound.

She remembers the bile rising up in her throat.

And then she remembers his hand. Finding hers in the darkness of the car as they sped off into God knows where with four men heavily armed and intent on doing God knows what to them.

His hand, holding onto hers. Steady and sure, soft and gentle. Holding onto her own.

And there they were.

Xxx

A muffled thud from somewhere above them startles her and she instinctively jumps to her feet before sliding back down the wall. She strains to hear what is happening but only the maddening sound of water dripping in staccato bursts meets her ears. She has never, in all of her time with the Bureau, been contained in an environment quite like this before, and the lack of contact with anyone, friend or foe, has her nerves on edge.

She crawls across the rough floor to Red's side of the enclosure and speaks his name softly, "Red –"

He doesn't respond and she tries to temper the panic that threatens to overtake her by watching his chest expand and retract with each breath. He's still here. Just sleeping.

She moves closer and runs her hand along his face, marveling at the texture of his hair, his skin. She's never had reason to touch him like this before. She moves her other hand to the far side of his face and gently brushes bits of debris from the space between his cheekbone and ear. The small pieces of dirt and caked blood fall to the floor soundlessly, and she can see the remains of a close morning shave where they rested. Without thinking she presses her lips to the soft spot of clean skin and keeps them there.

"I'm sorry Red. I'm so, so, sorry…"

The hand resting on his chest registers an increase in his heartbeat and, before she can move away, his eyes flutter open – clear and focused despite the circumstances. She wonders if he was really ever sleeping or just letting her be alone with her thoughts – giving her some space to work things out in her head.

"Lizzie…" the raspy notes of his voice bring unexpected tears to her eyes and she sits completely still, one hand on his chest and one on his face, and waits.

"Lizzie…" he's not making any effort to hide the tenderness in his eyes and she inches a tiny bit closer and –

_Screech._

The door to the room flies open with a metallic scream and three men crowd into the small space, one unarmed and familiar, the other two dressed in urban combat gear, their guns trained on the two individuals on the floor.

"Well, well, well…" the unarmed man's gaze works its way over Liz and Red and the closeness of their bodies. "_This_ was unexpected." His mouth moves up in a sardonic grin and he takes another step forward.

"And all this time I thought it was just you they were after." His words are directed at Reddington but his eyes are still fully trained on Liz.

"But maybe I was wrong…." he leaves the sentence unfinished and closes the distance to where they sit on the floor. Reaching down he pulls Red up by his injured arm until Red reaches a standing position.

She can see the resignation on Red's face; mixed with equal parts pain and something undeterminable. Red's eyes find hers in the dark and she tries to detect what he is working to tell her, but she can't.

"You," the lead captor intones forcefully, indicating Red, "with me."

"You," he nods at Liz, his face contorted into a leer, "well, we'll have to see what they want to do with you. For now you wait."

He starts to lead Red to the open door. The armed masked men preceding him out of the open space and into the dark passageway.

"Nooo," the scream comes out of someplace deep in her chest, some place primal and only concerned with the most basic tenants of survival, and life, and…

"Nooo." She throws herself at the door as the metal travels across the rusty track back into place.

"Nooo." Her futile screams dissolve into sobs as the captors lead Red out of sight and she falls down the wall to the floor.

"No." The words quieter now, containing more sadness now and less rage. "No." The words dissolving into tears as she hugs her knees into her chest and waits.

Xxx

"Raymond," the captor's voice raspy and thin in the space of the hallway. "Raymond, she's a surprise isn't she?"

Red's thoughts flash back to that awful day in the Post Office and he sees Anslo's face in front of his own and feels fear – deep, abiding terror growing in the pit of his belly. He had thought he had lost her that day. One of the darkest days before this morning's dawn.

"If I had had even an inkling that her protectiveness of you was borne out of more than overeager obligation" – the man's voice holds notes of surprise and along with a subtle hint of malice. Red's heartbeat quickens, and he breathes deeply to bring his outward emotions back under control.

"But that's not it, is it Raymond?" The larger man continues as if Red is going to answer him – confirm his assertions. "Oh no, there is more too this here, isn't it? And I'm guessing it's not money, or personal revenge, or ill timed second thoughts on sending a man to a certain fate. No I'm guessing it's much more personal than that…but what Raymond?"

Raymond walks silently ahead, not acknowledging the words coming from the man beside him.

"What have you made her do?" The twisted implication of the question evident in the delivery. "What have done to her Raymond?"

He repeats the question again and again but Red tunes him out. His thoughts back on Lizzie. The way she looked at him in the park. The anguish in her eyes. The unhidden fear over what was about to happen. The sudden spark of something new, some silent emotion he had not seen in her eyes before and hadn't seen directed towards him in a long, long time.

The hallway comes to an end and he hears voices coming from behind the large door.

_What has she done to me?_ He asks the question to himself. _What has she done to me?_


End file.
